when words are like the rain (3-16-14)

when words are like the rain and
the fields of communication between us are dry,

they erode slowly, imperceptibly
with a lazy wind blowing layers of dust and

pieces of our carefully planted life away.

they break off quietly, without much protest.

an oncoming cloud is grey and heavy with rain,
and I welcome the storm gladly,
arms outstretched, head thrown back,
rejoicing in the downpour,
as the cracked ground below me comes
shyly back to life, green and new.

but during a rainy season; our conversations
hashed, rehashed, and hashed again,
the storm becomes overkill. words I didn't want
to hear the first time, repeated.
they flood, they drown, they choke
what has been so lovingly tended.
they become as meaningless and superfluous as
another inch of water in a flooded, muddy field.

when words are like the rain,
there is power to give hope to a dry land.
there is power to kill what was planted.

as if i didn't know you (3-15-14)

I slip in between the lines and
through the cracks of your words
hearing the catch in your voice;
the mistrust and anxiety desperately fighting to
stay undercover--and failing.

I know you now almost as well as myself
and it's almost offensive that
you think I don't know and instantly recognize
the nuances of your phraseology and intricacies
of the way you say, "nothing," when I know in fact
there is something the matter.

don't you dare try to hide behind
walls you're scrambling to rebuild around yourself
when we have spent so many months
painstakingly tearing them down,
exposing what is true and honest, and allowing
vulnerability to have its seat among us.

it's not as if I didn't know you.
but if you want it that way,
I won't know you anymore.

3.14159265359 (3-14-14)

I've never been a math person,
usually shrugging off my profound lack of interest
in such things as an inability to perform.

Bits and pieces of my math education
come back, flooding in as disjointed memories;
snapshots of a mere moment with no context.
The Pythagorean theorem?
A squared plus B squared equals C squared.
When is this necessary? I wonder, and think
it seems to me it has something to do with finding area. or distance. or something.

These equations memorized and forgotten
as quickly as the last answer was written on the test.

We hold so dearly onto things that we need.
But as soon as they become unnecessary,
their importance fades
quickly and quietly, putting up almost no fight at all.

And as I sit, thinking of how much time I have spent
Needing people who did not need me in return,
I wonder when their importance will fade.
And if it doesn't, what will happen.

haiku #5 (3-11-14)

you yelled it at me
during a crowded concert
i didn't hear you

haiku #4 (3-10-14)

the way the sunlight
warms your shoulderblades in bed
breaks me in pieces

disappointment on 72nd street: a villanelle (3-9-14)

i can't imagine life after today
but i know that i'll continue on
there are no more games left to play

i haven't figured out what i'm to say
denial of your betrayal is forever gone
i can't imagine life after today

there are orders that i will obey
expectations of cooperation counted on
there are no more games left to play

my thoughts, like you, have started to stray
regret and bitterness breaking with the dawn
i can't imagine life after today

you want me to be quietly out of the way
so your guilt won't rage so strong
there are no more games left to play

there's nothing left in me that wants to stay
i have finally tired of being your pawn
i can't imagine life after today
there are no more games left to play

portland (3-8-14)

the softly falling rain

simply causes me to flip my 

hood up over my soggy hair

and keep walking

making it work (3-7-14)

making it work
might require me to
let go of my strongly felt
sense of entitlement
and welcome the
slightly terrifying impending unpredictable
adventure that awaits

seattle (3-5-14)

the gray sky flattens the 

landscape, making

the fringe of pines look

tired, a bit defeated. 

the rain-soaked pavement 

dips into unexpected puddles

my feet don't try to avoid. 

the moss along the sidewalk is

vibrant and alive, soaking in the rain. 

though uninvited, it thrives.

I could live here. 

This rain, this cool. I could grow. 

easily (3-4-14)

how easy it was to

fall in love with you

how easy it will be to

fall out again. 

haiku #3 (3-3-14)

that familiar smile
the way your eyes crinkle shut
your laughter echoes

haiku #1 (3-1-14)

impatient for spring
restless after wind and snow
longing for some warmth

forgo forgetting (2-28-14)

the problem isn't the memories

s  l  i  p  p  i  n  g                                    

                                                           away

stealthily,
            quietly.
                    (almost) imperceptibly.

the problem lies in the
deliberate choice to

forgo
       forgetting.

because then you are 
choosing to 
                                                                hold onto regret.